


Subtle Acts of Sororicide

by Frickles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frickles/pseuds/Frickles
Summary: Fleur Weasley had it all: a happy marriage, beautiful children, and a successful career. Gabrielle Delacour spent her life in her sister's shadow, average at best in every area but after failing to find work in France, she's shipped off to England for Fleur to make something of her. Gabrielle knew there was only one way to prove herself superior - ruin Fleur's perfect lifeIf you want to read the story with italics, emboldened words, and proper formatting, check it out on FFN. Ao3 doesn't handle the conversion well.
Relationships: Gabrielle Delacour/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Subtle Acts of Sororicide

**July 24, 2004**

"... but I'm afraid, despite your, ah, very well-written application, the Ministry simply doesn't have a place for you at this time."

Letting out a quiet sigh of disappointment, Gabrielle Delacour nevertheless held her head high. "Very well. Thank you for your consideration."

"It's such a shame, but we really are fully staffed at this time, you see. I know that everyone here has been hopeful that one of the Delacour daughters would take a position since your sister graduated, but the timing just isn't quite right."

"Of course," she said stiffly, managing not to grit her teeth. It took a supreme amount of concentration to force back the feathers that sprouted along her forearms at his seemingly innocuous comment, but Gabrielle had a lot of practice.

She shook the Director of Personnel's hand and left his office, making her way to the public Floo to head home. _Of course_ there were no more openings at the Ministry for the _wrong_ Delacour daughter! Honestly, could the man have been more transparent in his fawning?

" _Connard!_ " she shouted out in frustration the moment she emerged from the fireplace into the parlour at her family's chateau.

"Gabby, darling," her father said, cheeks reddening slightly beneath his well-trimmed goatee. "Perhaps you should go and visit with your mother in the study?"

Her eyes darted to and fro, cataloging the various officials that he was entertaining, feeling the embarrassment at having arrived shouting profanity. "My apologies, Father. Gentlemen, excuse me."

Ignoring their indulgent smiles, Gabrielle walked out of the room as quickly as possible, following the soothing sounds of a piano playing as she entered the study.

" _Maman!_ " she cried out, sitting down next to her mother and crying on her shoulder.

"Come now, my little angel, the interview couldn't have gone that badly, could it?"

"He- he rejected me! Not even a 'we'll let you know', just a flat out rejection!" Gabrielle raised her tear-filled eyes. "I thought that Father said he'd spoken with them!"

Apolline Delacour sighed. "He _did_ , but your father can only make recommendations. He cannot force them to grant you a position."

"What am I going to do?" she sobbed. "It's been a year since I graduated! It wasn't supposed to be this hard!"

"There, there, my sweet, it's okay," her mother said, although by now the words sounded stale. "We'll find something for you."

"Mama? Maybe I should- I mean, I've been having such a hard time, perhaps I could go and live with Grandmother in the Commune, just for a little while."

Apolline's expression froze, and she rubbed a slow circle on her daughter's back. "I don't think that's a good idea. You know that most of the women there are full veela; I'm afraid you may not fit in well."

"Why not? She invited Fleur after she graduated!"

"Yes, but, well-"

Gabrielle suddenly understood. "They don't want me, do they?" she asked quietly. "They were willing to accept Fleur, but I'm not good enough."

"No, Gabby, it's not that at all-" It was too late. Her mother's words fell flat as Gabrielle stormed away, slamming the door to her room so hard that it felt like the foundation of the home rattled.

It was just so unfair! Was she doomed to spend the rest of her life being judged by her sister's accomplishments? Never seen as a real person, just a pale imitation, a shadow of what the eldest Delacour daughter was?

Burying her face in her pillow, she screamed her frustration and rage. It just wasn't fair.

Gabrielle Delacour _hated_ her sister.

* * *

It hadn't always been this way. When she was a child, she perceived her older sister the same way that - apparently - the rest of the Wizarding World did; as beautiful, talented, virtuous, and the epitome of everything a proper French witch should aspire to be. They'd been so close then; of course, that was before Gabrielle began school, before her sister was a war hero.

That had marked the turning point in their relationship, and the slow descent into the hell she currently resided in. For Gabrielle's first year at Beauxbatons Academy came to an end one week _after_ the Dark Lord Voldemort was killed in Great Britain. In France during most of her first year, the nation was mobilizing for war. She recalled anxious, frightened letters from her parents, ordering her to stay close to teachers and to never venture outside the school's wards. Everyone had been sure that once Voldemort consolidated his hold on Great Britain, he would turn his dark armies to the south, across the English Channel to France.

But then, miraculously, he was defeated. Fleur, naturally, had played an important role in the final battle that had ended that monster for good. Gabrielle, who to that point had enjoyed a fairly normal, if somewhat tense first year, was suddenly the younger sister of a _legend_. Everything had spiraled from there.

She could never live up to the reputation her sister had carved across Beauxbatons. A charms prodigy, her instructors had crowed, then they'd mutter in disappointment when Gabrielle could not repeat whatever marvel Fleur had wowed them with. A Tri-Wizard Champion, they gushed; the tournament wasn't even held again during her seven years at school, though she did get a steady stream of questions about what it was like to be a _spectator_ to her sister's brilliance. And then, of course, Fleur's status as a war hero - just how the hell was she expected to measure up to _that_? If she'd been old enough, she would have fought alongside Harry Potter as well!

But no one saw Gabrielle Delacour. It was ironic, given that for most women with veela ancestry, attention was something that they lamented. In her years at Beauxbatons, Gabrielle would have gladly accepted admirers and sycophants had there been any interested in _her_ , and not in _Fleur's_ _sister_.

Even her own parents were constantly shuttling back and forth to England, visiting with her sister's detestable in-laws at their ramshackle hovel, fawning over their accolades and soaking in the adoration of being seen with the victors of the second British civil war. They hardly even noticed Gabrielle, giving her pats on the back when she brought home Acceptables on her OWLs, telling her not to worry when she was unable to test into NEWT classes, promising to pull strings when she received rejection after rejection from her job applications.

It was like she wasn't a real person. And it was all because of the shining light of the flawless perfection of _Fleur Weasley_.

Gabrielle Delacour _hated_ her sister.

* * *

"Gabby, please come down. Dinner's ready, and your father and I would like to speak with you!"

Muttering angrily to herself, she did as she was told, dragging herself out of her room and down to the formal dining room. "What is it?"

"Have a seat, angel, I made your favorite! Bouillabaisse, with bread fresh from the oven!"

It wasn't her favorite. It was Fleur's favorite, but Gabrielle sat down and filled her bowl anyway, determined to get the meal over with as quickly as possible.

"Your mother told me about your interview at the Ministry. I'm sorry, _cherie_ , I would not have sent you if I had not thought you would get a position."

"Mama, don't you know the owner of that boutique in Montmartre? I know quite a lot about fashion, I'm sure I could do well, even if I have to start as a shopgirl!"

Apolline gave her a sad look. "Unfortunately, given your heritage you would likely drive away customers. Veela unfortunately give rise to insecurity among many witches; their jealousy and resentment would not leave favorable impressions of the merchandise."

"Oh, alright," she mumbled, pushing her food back and forth with her spoon. "I'll find something soon, though."

Her parents exchanged nervous glances. "Gabby, your mother and I have been talking, and we think that perhaps it's time for you to get a fresh start. Make your own way in the world, as it were. We're well aware that you've had… difficulties finding success these last few years, and you know that we want nothing more than for you to be happy."

"Really?" she asked hesitantly, feeling a lightness in her chest at their concern.

"Yes, really," her mother said. "We've spoken with Fleur, and she's agreed to allow you to move in with her and Bill for a year, to allow you to seek your fortune overseas just as she has done."

That wonder and joy vanished, snuffed out at the prospect of once more being trapped beneath Fleur's shadow, seen as nothing more than a pale imitation of the woman everyone admired. "No!"

"There's no need to be upset. We're not disappointed in you; that couldn't be further from the truth. All we want is for you to be happy, to be able to live a good life."

"I can do that here! I can do it somewhere that's not England!"

"Gabby, you only have one NEWT. Your OWL scores were passable, at best. I'm afraid that not even your father's influence can secure you gainful employment in France."

"I will… I'll figure something out! Please, don't send me away!"

"We're not sending you 'away', we're broadening your horizons! And besides, since little Dominique's birth, your sister could use your help keeping Victoire out of trouble. You'd like to get to know your nieces, wouldn't you?"

Her eyes welled up with tears. "You're sending me away to be her _nanny_?"

"Of course not! Your sister will help you start a career. The least you could do is help her out a little; she is family, Gabby!"

"Please," she begged. "Please don't make me go."

"I'm afraid it's already decided. You'll depart on the 30th."

"I can't even stay for my birthday?!"

"Your sister wanted to make sure that you arrived before the school term began. Apparently, there are many positions that are filled at the end of the summer holiday," Appoline said. "And your sister _does_ have a newborn and a toddler to keep track of."

She couldn't hold her tears in any longer. This was a nightmare, it had to be. All she'd wanted was to be her own person, to escape from the weight of Fleur's accomplishments and reputation, and instead they were sending her to a place where she was revered for having helped _save the entire country!_

What did she do to deserve this? Why- why couldn't her parents just love her for who she was, let her live her own life? She'd promised to try harder, hadn't she? Why wasn't she enough?

Gabrielle Delacour _hated_ her sister.

* * *

**July 30, 2004**

She'd fought it as hard as she could. Screaming matches with her mother; loud, sobbing cry-fests at her father; she'd even reached out to the few school friends she'd thought of as _hers_ and asked to stay with them. Every one of them had been baffled at her reluctance to move to England and bask in the radiance of Fleur Weasley.

In the end, like everything else in her life, her own needs and wants never mattered, not one bit. She stood in the Ministry's international portkey office, several bags draped around her person with all the clothing and possessions she'd been able to pack, glaring at her parents as they sent her away to the one person she'd spent nearly a decade trying to avoid.

"Oh, I nearly forgot! Take this with you," her mother said, tucking a small gift bag beneath her arm. "It's Fleur's favorite desserts from that chocolatier in Paris. Give her our love!"

Despite knowing where her destination was, that last act of callousness made her momentarily grateful when the portkey activated with a jerk behind her navel, so desperate was Gabrielle to get away from her parents.

She landed on a rocky beach, smelling salt in the air and noticeably cooler breeze. ' _Isn't it_ ever _warm here?'_ she thought irritably, before hearing a familiar voice call out in greeting.

"Gabby! I hope that the trip was not too unpleasant! Bill, help her with her luggage!" Her brother-in-law hurried over, relieving Gabrielle of her burdens and winking at her. Apparently two children and domestic bliss hadn't done much to lessen his rogueish charm.

"We're both really glad you're here; Fleur jumped at the chance when your parents floated the idea," he whispered, setting one bag down to give her a one-armed hug.

"You'll get sand on my things!" she cried in response, drawing confused looks from Bill. ' _How could he_ still _not speak French?'_

Fleur shot her husband a look, then approached to give Gabrielle a warm embrace. The _bitch_ did not even have the decency to look frumpy or overweight, despite having given birth less than a month before. It made Gabrielle resent her even more in that moment. "I missed you so dearly! I wish you'd come to visit with Maman and Papa. Come, let's go inside so you can meet your newest niece."

Bill had moved ahead of them, giving the two sisters space to speak privately. "Is everything okay?"

"I didn't want to come here. Mother and Father sent me away like I had shamed the family!"

"Listen to me: it wasn't that, not at all. They only worried for your future; Maman told me of your frustrations in finding work. Things will be better here, you'll see," Fleur said, in that prissy 'all-knowing' voice she'd acquired over the years. "Now, some house rules - don't look at me like that, I know you're almost nineteen but you _are_ in a new country! - let me know when you leave the cottage, do not bring anyone home with you, and we speak English here. It isn't fair of you to exclude Bill."

Gabrielle opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, they stepped inside Shell Cottage. It was larger than when she'd last visited, several years before; apparently Bill had applied the same amateurish construction techniques his family had to their own home.

"Aunt Gabby!" An excited four-year old came rushing at her, catapulting herself into Gabrielle's arms.

"Hello Victoire, you've gotten so big!" The child was beautiful, not even messy or stained as so many other toddlers were. ' _Even her_ children _are perfect'_ she fumed to herself as she looked around, asking in heavily accented English, "Are these decorations for- for my arrival?"

Bill flushed. "Ah, no, unfortunately. We're hosting a birthday celebration tomorrow for a close-"

"Gabby remembers him well. You did have quite a crush on Harry for several years, after all," her sister teased. "It is his twenty-fourth birthday tomorrow. But I promise that in two weeks, we will decorate twice as much for _your_ birthday!"

Gabrielle ignored that guarantee, certain it was only offered so that Fleur could have the opportunity to flaunt her popularity more. What sort of birthday celebration could she have here, anyway?

The rest of the night passed far too slowly. She tried to focus on Victoire as much as possible, saddened by the child's obvious concern over the amount of attention Fleur paid to the newborn Dominique. Seeing history repeat itself with a new generation tugged at her already devastated heart.

Dinner was exquisite, and somehow Fleur even managed to procure a serviceable bottle of French wine from somewhere. Gabrielle drank, and ate, and stewed in envious fury. ' _Perfect Fleur Weasley, with her handsome husband and her beautiful children and her happy home'_ Maybe someone should teach her a lesson? Gods forbid anyone ever surpass _Fleur_ in any way, shape, or form.

Gabrielle smiled politely at something or other that her brother-in-law said, refilling her wine glass. Maybe _she_ should be the one to knock her sister down a peg. Wouldn't that just be the most delicious, satisfying result of this exile? To take the shine off of her parents' favored daughter, off the lovely wife and attentive mother? Her smile widened. It would be a fitting use of her time in this backwards and dreary country. Yes, she'd have to spend some time thinking about this.

Because Gabrielle Delacaour _hated_ her sister.

**A/N: First off, this story is dedicated to the guest reviewer on another one of my fics who told me that if I wanted to be a 'professional writer', I should only work on one story at a time, and was quite rude. Well, professional writers get _paid_ , so either hand over 40k/year, or quit complaining about how I spend my free time :P**

**In this fic, Gabby will have evil intentions, but lack the competency or ability to actually follow through. Sort of a 'dark!Gabby' comedy of errors. It just made sense to me that a little girl, safe in France, might feel jealous of how great her sister's life ended up, all the more so since she had no idea just how much Fleur and the rest had to go through to *get* that great life.**

**I guess, in that way, it's sort of a slice-of-life/coming of age; the plot doesn't have any action, and while most of it will be Gabby's POV (and she's rather spiteful), there also won't be bashing. Everyone's pretty happy and peaceful, but here comes this silly, beautiful French woman who's determined to do her best (which isn't all that great) to throw a wrench in it.**

**We'll meet Harry next chapter, and find out what his post-war life's been like. Til then,**

**Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles**


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